


Self-Made Men

by enigmaticblue



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:12:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Rodney sees John Sheppard, he has just stepped off the airship and onto the North Pier. The small figure is flying between the spires of the city, too far away for Rodney to be able to recognize him later; close enough to know it’s a person. He thinks it a good omen at the time—if he believed in such things. It turns out that he’s not right, but he’s not wrong either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Self-Made Men

**Author's Note:**

> Written for mcshep_match 2012, for the prompt, “salt in the wound”. Many thanks to S. for the brainstorming help, and to Team Captain busaikko, who was a huge help cleaning things up.

**Prologue**

 

The first time Rodney sees John Sheppard, he has just stepped off the airship and onto the North Pier. The small figure is flying between the spires of the city, too far away for Rodney to be able to recognize Sheppard later; close enough to know it’s a person. He thinks it a good omen at the time—not that he believes in such things. It turns out that he’s not right, but he’s not wrong either.

 

He reminds himself that he’s come to Atlantis for the scientific opportunities, and not just anyone has that honor. After all, only the best and the brightest are invited, and Rodney is certainly that.

 

He gazes up at the spires that modern man can only hope to emulate, watching the small figure gracefully looping over the city, the sunlight glinting off bright metal ribs.

 

Rodney smiles at the sight, mentally wishes the flying man well, and walks into his future.

 

**Part I**

 

John walks into the headquarters for the Atlantis Peacekeeping Force, adjusting his jacket and tie, already feeling the prickle of heat, sweat gathering at the base of his spine.

 

Ronon falls into step next to John as he heads for Elizabeth’s office, looking as comfortable in his everyday suit as he does in the leathers he wears when they go down into the bowels of the city. “How was your day off?”

 

John shrugs. “Fine. You?”

 

“Could have been worse,” Ronon replies. “You ready for this?”

 

“For what?” John asks.

 

Ronon smiles. “You’ll see.”

 

The amused expression on Ronon’s face doesn’t bode well for John’s future; he’s seen that look before, and it usually comes just before John is tasked with something unpleasant.

 

They might be friends, but John often finds Ronon’s sense of humor suspect.

 

Teyla joins them as they reach Elizabeth’s door, and John gives a perfunctory knock, waiting for her call to enter.

 

There’s a man sitting in the straight-backed wooden chair across from her desk, in a once-fashionable suit that has gone threadbare around the lapels, which may indicate either a man who does not usually care about his appearance, or one fallen on hard times. From this angle, John can see thinning brown hair, and large hands gripping the arms of the chair.

 

“John,” Elizabeth rises and greets him with a smile. “This is Dr. Rodney McKay. Dr. McKay, this is Commander John Sheppard, along with Inspectors Teyla Emmagan and Ronon Dex.”

 

John recognizes the name immediately; the story has been in the papers for the past several weeks, along with a reproduction of a photograph that had clearly been taken a number of years before. When McKay stands and turns to look at him, John can see that the photograph hadn’t done him justice, as it would be impossible to capture the blue of his eyes in the cheap black and white newsprint.

 

“Dr. McKay,” John says evenly.

 

“Dr. McKay will be joining your team,” Elizabeth explains. “I’m certain his expertise in Ancient technology will prove invaluable.”

 

McKay hunches his shoulders, and John can see the unhappiness in the tension of his posture, and the slant of his mouth.

 

“Welcome, Dr. McKay,” John says. “We’re pleased to have you.”

 

McKay snorts. “I’m sure,” he mutters.

 

Elizabeth shoots him a quelling look. “Commander Sheppard is my deputy, and one of our best investigators. I expect you to follow his orders, and to do your best, Dr. McKay.”

 

Some of the fight leaves McKay at that point, but John can still see a hint of stubbornness in the tilt of his chin.

 

John smirks, knowing that will serve him well as a PF.

 

“Ronon, Teyla, please fill him in,” Elizabeth orders with a sigh. “John, stay. The rest of you are dismissed.”

 

John waits until the door closes behind the three of them before he takes McKay’s place in the chair. “I must admit that I hadn’t expected this.”

 

“From what I understand, Governor O’Neill is reluctant to lose McKay’s talents, but wants to keep a tighter rein on him in the future,” Elizabeth explains.

 

John shakes his head. “Being a PF is a little below him, isn’t it?”

 

“It wasn’t below _you_ ,” Elizabeth counters.

 

John shrugs. “Maybe, but I was an airship captain with some combat experience. I doubt McKay can say as much. I hope he at least knows how to use a weapon.”

 

“I’ve been assured that he does,” Elizabeth replies. “His father was a scientist, and his mother was the daughter of a wealthy landowner. I believe he has all the skills normally associated with a gentleman.”

 

“Handling a hunting rifle, and being able to shoot someone who has your death in mind are two completely different situations,” John says. “But I promise to try to keep him alive.”

 

“Just keep him from insulting anyone in the Houses,” Elizabeth says. “There is only so much diplomacy I can exercise.”

 

John grimaces. “I’ll do my best. I think I’ll let Teyla deal with the Houses until we’re more certain of McKay’s abilities.”

 

“That would be wise,” Elizabeth agrees, looking almost amused. “At least Ronon knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

 

John shrugs. “So do I. It’s just difficult to do when they look at me like something that’s on the bottom of their shoes.”

 

Elizabeth nods. “I understand, John. Believe me. I’ll spare you if I can.”

 

John rises and stands straight. “Thank you, ma’am.”

 

She smiles and shakes her head. “Get out of here, Commander. Get your assignment from Chuck.”

 

Chuck has a stack of handwritten messages for John when he leaves Elizabeth’s office. “Here you are, sir.”

 

“Thank you,” John says politely. “Tell your mother I said hello.”

 

Chuck beams at him. “Yes, sir. She promised biscuits later this week.”

 

“Wonderful,” John replies. “I think your mother makes the best biscuits in the city.”

 

“She’ll be happy to hear that,” Chuck says.

 

John takes his time making his way to the corner where four Ancient desks have been pushed together. His team has been without a fourth for a couple of months now, ever since Ford had fallen victim to the Wraith.

 

McKay’s sitting at the empty desk when John approaches, his shoulders hunched, carefully _not_ looking at Teyla or Ronon.

 

“We have a list of assignments,” John announces. “Teyla, Ronon, there was a robbery at Lord Meron’s mansion. Ronon, you know what to do.”

 

Ronon waves a hand, which clearly translates into an assurance that that he will be menacing while allowing Teyla to do the talking.

 

“Teyla, I don’t need to tell you how to handle this,” John adds, more for McKay’s benefit than anyone else’s.

 

“With the utmost discretion,” Teyla says serenely.

 

John smiles. “They won’t even know what hit them. McKay, we have a meeting with an informant. Have you been issued a firearm?”

 

“No, not yet,” McKay responds stiffly.

 

“Can you use one?”

 

“I’ve had limited training,” McKay admits.

 

“We’ll go to the range soon for more practice,” John promises. “For now, I just need to know that you can shoot and not hit me.”

 

McKay’s lips quirk in what might almost be a smile. “Not unless I’m aiming for you, although I can’t promise that I’ll hit the precise body part I’m aiming for.”

 

“Fair enough,” John replies. “Let’s go.”

 

The transporters will take those with the gene anywhere on the city, except for the underground, but John never uses them. He dislikes running into people from his old life, and prefers not to reveal his status as a member of one of the Houses—disgraced though he may be.

 

Ronon knows because he’s been with John for years now, and Teyla had found out the first time they’d been dispatched to deal with Lord Gantry’s disreputable son. With luck, Rodney will never have an opportunity to find out, and he’ll be back among the city’s engineers when the outrage dies down and the governor feels he’s learned his lesson.

 

No one of McKay’s talents will remain with the APF long.

 

Still, there are certain things that McKay has to know in order to do this job effectively, even if only for a short period of time.

 

“What do you know about what PFs do?” John asks as they make their way to one of the motorized vehicles uncommon on the city but available to PFs, a concession from the Houses that prefer to have the PFs at their disposal.

 

McKay’s shoulders move stiffly. “Not as much as I should. I’ve never paid much attention. If I had, I might have avoided this situation entirely.”

 

“Perhaps,” John says. “But perhaps not. The Houses control most of the city, of course, and we serve at their leisure.”

 

McKay nods and mumbles, “ _That_ , I knew.”

 

“Beyond the Houses, we protect the city from the Genii, who are perhaps most famous for their bombing of the central spire,” John continues.

 

McKay grimaces. “I’ve heard about that, but it occurred before I arrived on Atlantis. They’re communists, aren’t they?”

 

“Similar,” John agrees. “Their goal is to turn the city over to the undercaste and destroy the Houses. They’re best at sowing chaos and discord.”

 

“Why don’t you kick them all off Atlantis, then?” McKay asks.

 

“If only we could,” John replies. “But banishment is considered a harsh punishment, and is dealt out only to those deemed dangerous to Atlantis’ interests. And, unfortunately, many of those in the upper ranks of the Genii have contacts with the Houses which protect them.”

 

McKay snorts. “Big surprise there.”

 

“Besides the Genii, there are the Wraith,” John says. “I’m still not sure if they’re a religious cult or simply a criminal enterprise, but they have substances that put the opium dens on the Continent to shame.”

 

McKay frowns. “I’ve never frequented opium dens.”

 

“Good for you,” John replies. “But those who visit the Wraith do not return, so keep that in mind.”

 

“Anything else?” McKay asks sarcastically.

 

“There are also your common criminals,” John replies. “Some have the bloodline, others do not.”

 

“And what is done with them?” McKay asks, a challenging light in his eye.

 

“That depends on their crimes, but there are no prisons on Atlantis,” John admits. “The Houses take care of their own, and the rest are sent off the city.”

 

Justice on Atlantis often means something very different than on the Continent; John has traveled enough to know that.

 

Then again, most countries have those who consider themselves above the law, and they very often are. From what John can tell, the Houses of Atlantis are part of that grand tradition.

 

“Where are they sent?” McKay asks, sounding a bit angry, and John suspects McKay is lumping himself into the same category as the criminals.

 

John shakes his head. “It’s best not to ask for too many details, and I doubt you’ll be with us long enough for it to matter.”

 

McKay glances at him suspiciously. “You’re so certain of that?”

 

“You’re an engineer, and what occurred was primarily an accident,” John replies. “Do not doubt it, McKay. You’ll be back among the scientists in half a year’s time.”

 

~~~~~

 

Something about Sheppard’s assurance makes Rodney feel better than he has in weeks—ever since the accident and Collins’ death. Sheppard speaks with the confidence of someone who understands how things work on Atlantis, something Rodney cannot claim.

 

Rodney still can’t quite believe what happened. From the heights of pride and pleasure at being invited to Atlantis, to the depths of despair in less than two years. He’d almost rather have had Governor O’Neill send him home in disgrace. Instead, O’Neill had insisted he remain, and Rodney can’t quite shake the feeling that he’s been placed under something akin to house arrest.

 

Well, city arrest, but he’s definitely not being allowed to leave Atlantis.

 

He still burns with shame every time he remembers the dressing down Governor O’Neill gave him.

 

 _“Of all the careless, irresponsible,_ stupid _things you could have done.” O’Neill had been absolutely rigid with anger. “Did you know that Collins was a member of one of the Houses? His family is calling for your head!”_

_“He was a competent scientist and he did his job!” Rodney had replied hotly. “What do I care about his family?”_

_“You’d better start caring,” O’Neill had snapped. “You’re treading on ground that your betters have deemed off-limits, and for good reason.”_

_“Betters?” McKay asked incredulously. “Because of some accident of birth?”_

_“Betters because they have the bloodline, and you don’t,” O’Neill replied._

_Rodney snorted. “Don’t you mean that_ you _have the bloodline?”_

_O’Neill ignored him, which wasn’t a surprise. O’Neill might have the bloodline and the connections, but he was known as someone who didn’t trade on them unless absolutely necessary._

_“That’s the way things work on Atlantis,” O’Neill continued. “The sooner you realize that and begin to play by the rules, the sooner you can get back to your research. Until then, you will serve Atlantis in another function.”_

_Rodney felt dread pool in his stomach. “What are you talking about? I thought you were going to send me home.”_

_“You know far too much about Atlantis for_ that _, Dr. McKay,” he’d said, quiet menace in his voice. “No, you’re going to serve the Atlantis Peacekeeping Force until you learn some humility.”_

 

All of his protests after that point had fallen upon deaf ears. PFs had a thankless task, keeping the undercaste from rising up, and placating the uppercaste. He’d never had much call to pay attention to them, having never been either victim or criminal.

 

And now he’s one of them, and he has no idea what he’s doing, other than following Commander Sheppard around the city.

 

“Keep your hand near your weapon, but don’t draw unless I do,” Sheppard warns him, as he leads McKay into the underbelly of Atlantis, which isn’t somewhere Rodney has been before.

 

“Why?” Rodney asks, but he does as he’s told, letting his hand settle on the blaster Sheppard had retrieved from the armory prior to leaving headquarters.

 

“Do me a favor and save your questions until the end,” Sheppard hisses.

 

Rodney’s not inclined to follow orders at the best of times, but something tells him that he’d better keep his mouth shut.

 

He leads Rodney through a dim hallway redolent with the smells of brine and decay, and maybe human waste. Rodney sees something scurry across the floor, and he freezes, his hand clutching the blaster.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Sheppard murmurs, glancing over his shoulder and waving Rodney forward.

 

“What was that?” Rodney demands.

 

Sheppard shrugs. “Rats, probably. They come in with the shipments of supplies. Let’s go. We’re going to be late.”

 

Rodney stays close after that, trying not to step on Sheppard’s heels.

 

“Todd?” Sheppard calls out cautiously as they reach a bend in the hallway.

 

“Here, Sheppard.” The voice has a strange, unfamiliar timbre that causes the hair on the back of Rodney’s neck to stand on end.

 

Rodney stiffens as the figure comes out of the shadows of an alcove. It’s tall, with the long hair of a woman, and a long, black coat, but the odd voice is male, and the face—

 

He’s never seen anything like it. High cheekbones, slanted eyes, no nose to speak of—it’s utterly alien.

 

“Don’t stare,” Sheppard orders in a whisper, then says more loudly, “It’s nice to see you, Todd.”

 

“And you, Commander,” Todd replies.

 

Sheppard offers a thin smile. “What have you got for me?”

 

“There’s another expansion planned for the East Pier,” Todd replies. “Lower levels. I think you know where.”

 

Sheppard nods. “We’ve noticed more activity in the area recently. The question is why you’re telling me this.”

 

“I have enemies among those expanding,” Todd replies. “It would please me if you put a spoke in their wheel, as you might say.”

 

Sheppard smiles. “Lucky for you, I’m getting a little irritated with your compatriots.”

 

“All the better for me,” Todd replies. “If you manage to stop them.”

 

Sheppard nods. “When should we act?”

 

“Two days from now,” Todd replies. “Good luck, Sheppard.”

 

“Thank you for the information,” Sheppard replies formally. “Let me know if you have anything to add by the usual methods.”

 

Todd disappears into the shadows, and Rodney is left with the disquieting feeling that he’s still there, watching them.

 

Sheppard takes his arm. “Come on,” he murmurs. “We should move. There’s still a patrol to do.”

 

“That’s it?” Rodney asks.

 

Sheppard nods. “We’ll have to be ready for the Wraith expansion two days from now, but that’s something we’ll talk about later.”

 

A man brushes past them, and Rodney turns to stare at the strange prosthetic eye he sports.

 

“Don’t stare,” Sheppard orders, putting an arm around Rodney’s shoulders. “Body modifications are typical here.”

 

“Poorly done body modifications,” Rodney mutters.

 

Sheppard sighs. “The undercaste ape their betters.”

 

“There’s nothing inherently _better_ about those with the bloodline,” Rodney snaps.

 

Sheppard laughs, but the sound doesn’t hold much humor. “But it’s true in every city in the world. The poor always emulate the rich.”

 

“That was not a good modification,” Rodney protests, although he keeps his voice down. “It was poorly engineered, and the scarring!”

 

“The poor can’t pay for decent doctors either,” Sheppard replies. “And they don’t have the gene to integrate with the technology, so it’s piecemeal at best.”

 

Rodney has never wanted a modification; he’s just fine the way he is.

 

Sheppard probably sees the horror on his face, because he adds, “They don’t like to be stared at, and you’ll see worse jobs the longer you’re with us.”

 

“I’d rather not get used to it,” Rodney admits.

 

Sheppard shrugs. “You might as well. Even when you go back to the city engineers, I think you’ll find the political climate difficult to ignore. The things you see as a PF are hard to forget.”

 

“Why anyone would willingly do this job, I do not know,” Rodney mutters, speaking without thought.

 

Sheppard’s expression turns sardonic. “It wasn’t my first choice, but it’s grown on me,” he admits.

 

“What was your first choice?” Rodney asks.

 

Sheppard smiles, and there’s little amusement there. “I wanted to pilot an airship.”

 

“Why didn’t you?” Rodney asks.

 

“I’m going to need a lot to drink before I tell you that,” Sheppard counters sharply. “And I’ve only just made your acquaintance.”

 

Rodney nods. “Of course. I’m sorry, Commander.”

 

“You’re forgiven,” Sheppard says. “You couldn’t know.”

 

Rodney shakes his head. As usual, his scientific curiosity outstrips his grasp of social niceties. “Of course.”

 

Sheppard buttons his jacket as they leave the underground portion of the city, back out into the well-lit corridors with which Rodney is familiar. The small vehicle that takes them around the city is powered by some Ancient fuel no one knows how to replicate. Rodney had been close to making a breakthrough when Collins had been killed, and he’s not sure he’ll be given another opportunity to study Ancient sources of energy.

 

“We have rounds to do,” Sheppard says. “I promise that most elements of this job are boring.”

 

“I’m not sure that makes me feel any better,” Rodney admits.

 

Sheppard smiles. “It shouldn’t. The parts that aren’t more than make up for the parts that are.”

 

Rodney has never thought of himself as a particularly brave man, but he’s going to have to find his courage, and get through this ordeal as best he can.

 

~~~~~

 

John doesn’t expect much from McKay. The man is a scientist, an engineer, not a soldier or a policeman. Mostly, he hopes he can keep the man alive until it’s time for him to return to the ranks of the city engineers, and he hopes McKay doesn’t get anyone else killed.

 

Of course, as long as McKay’s actions don’t result in the death of another member of the Houses, he’ll be welcomed back with open arms once O’Neill thinks he’s learned his lesson.

 

It’s a terrible truth, but some lives on Atlantis are worth more than others.

 

John finds one of the ubiquitous messengers to relay Todd’s information back to Elizabeth before they start their patrol, hoping to have an answer by day’s end. Their patrol is relatively uneventful, although it includes stopping one assault in progress, and taking a report of a robbery of one of the small vendors selling their wares in the undercity. When they’re done, John checks in at headquarters with Chuck.

 

“Teyla and Ronon are still working on determining who stole the jewelry from Lord Meron’s wife,” Chuck informs him. “Commissioner Weir said to let you know that she is willing to entertain the possibility of a raid on the Wraith, but that she will have to discuss it tomorrow, as she had a meeting with the governor and several others this afternoon.”

 

John nods. “Anything else, Chuck?”

 

“No, sir,” Chuck replies. “It’s been relatively quiet today.”

 

“Thank the Ancients for small favors,” John replies and means it. He’d rather break McKay in gently. “We’ll be down at the range, and off-duty after that.”

 

“Very good, sir.”

 

John leads McKay to the range that the PFs use. Members of the Houses have their own, and no one else on the city is allowed to carry a weapon.

 

That doesn’t mean they don’t have them, of course, which is why John wants to be sure that McKay knows how to use one.

 

“Have you ever used an energy weapon before?” John asks.

 

McKay shakes his head. “I never had the opportunity. My experience is with projectiles.”

 

“You’ll find the blaster easier to use,” John informs him. “Most people do. It has the added benefit of incapacitating without killing.” He removes his jacket, hanging it on a hook, watching as McKay does the same. “The Genii generally use projectile weapons, while the Wraith prefer blades—although they occasionally manage to obtain stunners.”

 

McKay sets his broad shoulders, and though he’s a bit soft around the middle, John can see he has some muscle to him. “I’ve never been in a battle. Honestly, I have no idea what Governor O’Neill was thinking.”

 

John shrugs. “We _could_ use someone with expertise in Ancient technology. Even among those with the bloodline, we often receive emergency calls from people who have activated something they shouldn’t have.”

 

He probably should have chosen his words more carefully, because McKay flushes and looks at the floor, and John is reminded of why McKay is here.

 

John clears his throat and motions for McKay to take a position facing the target on the other side of the room. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

 

McKay turns out to be a pleasant surprise on the range. He hits the target each time, even if he rarely strikes the bullseye. “I like this weapon much better,” McKay admits. “It’s quieter, and there’s little recoil.”

 

“Another advantage,” John agrees. “Nearly anyone can use one of these, which is why we try to keep them out of the hands of anyone other than PFs.”

 

“And the Houses?”

 

“They have their own weapons,” John confirms. “And they can be dangerous, as you probably know.”

 

“Politically dangerous,” McKay agrees. “But personally?”

 

John shrugs. “There are different kinds of dark underbellies and secrets, some more obvious than others. And there are always those who will kill to protect them.”

 

McKay grimaces. “I never knew any of this.”

 

“Most don’t,” John replies. “I just happen to have seen them up close and personal. I think that’s enough for the day. Would you like to get a beer?”

 

McKay assents, and after they’ve put their jackets back on and holstered their weapons, John leads him to his favorite pub. McKay grimaces at the sticky floor and dim interior, and John wonders if he’s used to nicer places.

 

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but this place has the best beer on Atlantis,” John says in a low voice. “And it’s considered neutral territory, so we’re generally not bothered.”

 

“Do you get harassed often?” McKay asks, gingerly taking the seat across from John at his favorite table in the corner.

 

John smiles. “I try to avoid it. Teyla and Ronon should be joining us shortly.”

 

“Is this a usual thing?” McKay asks.

 

“You’ll find that there are few who will spend time with us besides other PFs,” John replies. “You’ll get used to it. We’re not such a bad lot.”

 

“You’re not what I expected,” McKay admits. “I still don’t know if I can do this job.”

 

John shrugs. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

 

~~~~~

 

Rodney has only been a PF for two days when Sheppard leads a major raid on a Wraith drug smuggling operation. Sheppard insists that he stay back, and Rodney doesn’t know whether to be hurt or relieved.

 

More relieved, he decides, grateful not to be on the front lines, even if it speaks to a lack of trust in his abilities. Then again, he’s never been a soldier, so he doesn’t blame the commander for his caution.

 

Sheppard has been more than decent to him, mostly acting as though Rodney is a competent member of his team, rather than an idiot who needs careful watching. Sheppard hadn’t shown any sign of irritation at being saddled with Rodney, nor had he mentioned the accident, although Rodney is certain he knows about it, as it had been in all the papers.

 

“Let’s go carefully, gentlemen—and ladies,” Sheppard adds with a smile and a nod toward Teyla. “The Wraith are considered armed and dangerous.”

 

There are murmured “yes, sirs” from those gathered, and Rodney finds himself echoing them. He can understand why these people follow Sheppard, who seems to command respect as easily as breathing, with his good looks and winning charm.

 

Sheppard catches Rodney’s eye and smiles reassuringly. “Let’s all come back safely.”

 

The raid is chaotic and frightening. Rodney’s weapon feels small and insignificant in his hands, and his collar is tight and constricting. His heart pounds, the dim lighting makes it impossible to see anything clearly, and Rodney focuses on not shooting anybody who _isn’t_ a Wraith.

 

There are plenty of other PFs between Rodney and the Wraith, though, and a few others behind him, and for a while he thinks he won’t have to fight.

 

And then one of the Wraith gets through, his face green-tinged and strangely marked, with the same high cheekbones and lack of nose Rodney had observed on Todd. As it barrels toward him, Rodney thinks, _Body mods, just body mods, shoot him, SHOOT HIM_.

 

He fires his blaster at the same time the Wraith fires at him, and Rodney goes down, paralyzed, muscles twitching. Panic chokes him, and he tries to breathe, to move, but can’t. He hears a cacophony of voices, but has no idea what’s going on.

 

“McKay.” It’s Sheppard’s voice, and he’s leaning over Rodney so that Rodney can see him, in spite of his inability to move. “You were hit with a stun weapon. It’s uncomfortable, but the effects will wear off. You’ll be fine.”

 

Rodney tries to reply, but he can’t make his lips move, and all that comes out of his mouth is an unintelligible mumble.

 

“Teyla!” Sheppard shouts.

 

Between the two of them, they manage to prop Rodney up against the wall, and Sheppard says, “Teyla, stay with him, please. I need to supervise clean up.”

 

“Of course, Commander,” Teyla replies. She settles down next to Rodney on the floor. “Do not worry, Dr. McKay. I’ll stay with you until the medics arrive, and you’ll be right as rain in a few hours.”

 

He makes a sound that he hopes is appropriately grateful, and hears a commotion close by. Rodney has never felt so helpless in his life, and he longs to reach for his weapon. Teyla moves so that she’s crouched over his body, shielding Rodney, and he’s touched by her concern.

 

Sheppard calls out, “Ford! Wait!” and Rodney sees someone run past him, Sheppard on his heels.

 

Teyla makes a sound of distress but stays where she is.

 

Rodney makes a questioning sound.

 

“Aiden Ford,” Teyla murmurs. “It’s a long story, and not one best told in a hallway such as this.” She sits back against the wall, and sighs. “Let us hope that John catches him. Otherwise, he’s going to be impossible to live with.”

 

Of course, Rodney can’t ask her what she means, or why Aiden Ford is so important. All he can do is sit there and listen to Teyla’s repeated reassurances.

 

The next few hours pass slowly as he regains feeling and motion in his limbs. During that time, the medics load him onto a stretcher and cart him to the infirmary dedicated to members of the APF. Rodney doesn’t like to think about why they might need their own doctors, but maybe it’s for security, or perhaps it’s easier to get treated immediately.

 

By the time he has most of the feeling back in his limbs, and only his extremities are tingling, Sheppard has taken Teyla’s place next to his bed. “The doctors say they’ll release you tonight, but not if you’re staying by yourself,” Sheppard says. “You live alone, correct?”

 

Rodney nods.

 

“Then if you want to get out of here, you can stay with me,” Sheppard offers.

 

Rodney is grateful he can speak now. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sorry I failed.”

 

Sheppard frowns. “What are you talking about? You shot a Wraith, and got stunned in the process. There’s no failure on your part.”

 

“Thank you,” Rodney says, sincerely.

 

Sheppard shrugs. “It’s my pleasure, Dr. McKay. Now, would you like to take me up on my offer?”

 

“I would, Commander Sheppard,” Rodney replies, and thinks he might have made a friend.

 

~~~~~

 

What starts out as John looking after someone assigned to his command, turns into an unlikely friendship. He doesn’t ask McKay about the accident that resulted in him being relegated to the PFs. As far as he’s concerned, McKay’s life started when he was assigned to John’s team. That’s all he needs to know.

 

John is aware that McKay would be happier in a lab, but Elizabeth begins to assign them any cases involving Ancient technology. McKay is happiest when he’s tinkering, and he has a grasp of Ancient technology that’s startling in someone without the bloodline.

 

And the truth is that even those with the physical control don’t always know when to leave well enough alone.

 

They’re called to the South Pier one day after a report that someone had activated something he shouldn’t.

 

“We think it might be a bomb,” says the breathless messenger. “But we’re not sure.”

 

McKay sighs. “Of course you aren’t sure. No one is _sure_ when it comes to the Ancients.”

 

John catches Teyla’s eye, and she shrugs philosophically. Although her people had once worshipped the Ancients, few of them do anymore. Their descendants _are_ rather disappointing over all.

 

“Let’s go,” John says. “We’ll give Dr. McKay a chance to work his magic.”

 

“It’s not magic, it’s _science_ ,” McKay protests grumpily. “But I’ll do my best.”

 

John has discovered that McKay is nearly always grumpy, particularly before he’s had enough coffee to keep Atlantis afloat. He grumbles about nearly everything, complaining to anyone who will listen. It’s fortunate for him—and for John’s team—that they all find it more amusing than not.

 

Granted, Ronon’s patience wears thin when he perceives McKay as wasting time, and Teyla has been known to kick McKay sharply when he’s about to say something that will get them all into trouble, and he’s even managed to exasperate John on occasion.

 

Still, McKay generally does what he’s asked, and he’s as good with Ancient technology as had been promised. On a day like today, that comes in handy.

 

John might be able to control bloodline-activated technology, but he doesn’t understand _how_ it works, not like McKay.

 

The messenger takes them to the South Pier by transporter, which spares John from having to do so. He’s grateful when they don’t run into anyone who knows him, although he realizes it’s only a matter of time. The longer McKay stays with them, the more likely it is that he’ll discover John’s secret.

 

And McKay expresses disdain daily for the Houses, for the bloodlines, for the trick of fate that keeps those who can command Ancient technology in full control of the city. John has no desire to for McKay to look at him with the same contempt.

 

The messenger leads them to the bomb, which is in a heavily trafficked area of the city, full of residences for those serving the Houses, as well as small shops selling cheap goods.

 

John has to give McKay credit; he takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves without hesitation. “Can you disarm it?” John asks.

 

McKay shakes his head. “Please be quiet, Commander. I need to concentrate.”

 

John turns to Teyla and Ronon. “Do a sweep and make sure everyone has been evacuated. I don’t want any stragglers.”

 

They begin to work; Teyla’s calm and Ronon’s menace will be enough to get even the most recalcitrant to pay attention.

 

John crouches down next to McKay. “Talk to me, Doctor.”

 

“Standard explosives,” he replies, ghosting a hand over the sticks of dynamite and wires. There’s the sound of a ticking clock that sets John’s teeth on edge. “But the detonator is Ancient in design, and I believe has been repurposed. It would have been activated by someone with the bloodline.” McKay glances up. “Do you know who would do such a thing?”

 

“Genii,” John says quietly. “They’re well known for their bombs, but we’ve never been able to collect enough evidence against them to remove them from Atlantis. If you can disarm it, and we can study it, we might be able to prove a connection, which would allow us to expel them, and we might learn who in the Houses has been protecting them.”

 

McKay shakes his head. “I can’t disarm it without the bloodline!” He looks around at the deserted pier. “And I doubt you’ll find anyone who can around here in time.”

 

“How long do we have?”

 

“Five minutes,” McKay replies. “If that. It’s an inexact science. And I wouldn’t recommend moving it. That could set it off.”

 

John sighs, and knows the time for keeping secrets is over. “What do I need to do?”

 

McKay stares at him. “As I just said, we need to leave the area!”

 

“To disarm it.” John meets McKay’s blue eyes, willing him to understand without further explanation.

 

McKay’s mouth twists unhappily. “Put your hands on either side of the detonator, and think _off_. If that doesn’t work, I don’t know that anything will.”

 

“You’d better evacuate as well,” John warns him. “Just in case this goes off.”

 

McKay shakes his head stubbornly. “I might be able to help—but sooner would be better in this case.”

 

John takes a deep breath, glancing around to be sure that he and McKay are the only ones around.

 

He rarely interacts with Ancient technology these days, so he’s out of practice, but John has always had an instinctive grasp, even if he doesn’t understand the mechanics the way McKay does. He focuses and thinks _off_ as hard as he can, and the ticking stops. Better yet, there are no explosions.

 

“Well, you have your evidence, Commander Sheppard,” McKay announces, his tone bitter. “Congratulations.”

 

McKay turns on his heel and stalks back toward the transporter, and John rubs his eyes, feeling a dull rush of anger. He never asked for any of this—not for being born to the blood, or being a PF, or having McKay assigned to his team, or even to _like_ the man.

 

He just hopes that McKay doesn’t become impossible to deal with now that he knows.

 

John hands the explosive off to one of the uniforms, who gingerly places it inside a steel box and closes the lid. “Take it to the lab technicians, and tell them to put a rush on it,” John orders. “I want the results yesterday.”

 

“Yes, sir,” the man replies.

 

John joins McKay, Teyla, and Ronon in the transporter, knowing there’s no reason to prevaricate, and they’ll get back to headquarters far more quickly this way.

 

When they arrive in the hallway nearest headquarters, McKay can’t walk away fast enough, and Teyla touches John’s forearm in a comforting gesture. “He will come around, John,” she assures him. “He is a fair minded man overall.”

 

“I hope so,” John grumbles. “I should give my report to Elizabeth. Would you prepare the paperwork? I would like to have warrants for arrest ready as soon as we get the results from our scientists. We’ll fill in the blanks for the names when we have them.”

 

“Of course,” Teyla replies.

 

John finds McKay standing next to his desk, arms crossed over his chest and chin jutting pugnaciously. “What now, Commander?”

 

“Now, we make our report to Dr. Weir, and then we go home,” John replies. “With luck, we’ll get enough information from the explosives to make an arrest.” He meets McKay’s eyes squarely. “I hope we can still work together, Dr. McKay.”

 

There’s a flicker of emotion that crosses McKay’s expressive face, but John can’t decipher it. “Of course,” he replies stiffly. “Nothing has changed.”

 

Elizabeth nods to both of them as they enter. “Well done today, gentlemen. I’ve received a preliminary report, but I would like a few more details.”

 

John spends the next hour going over what occurred, with McKay adding his insights.

 

“Do you think we’ll be able to tell who built the bomb?” Elizabeth asks.

 

“Some of the components are difficult to obtain,” McKay replies. “We might be able to determine the manufacturer once we have more details.”

 

She nods. “Very well. I don’t think I need to tell you to remain alert, John. Until the bombers are off the city, there will be no rest for anyone.”

 

“Of course, ma’am,” John replies. “You know where to find me.”

 

“Dismissed,” she says.

 

They exit the office, and McKay asks stiffly, “Do you need me, Commander?”

 

John feels weary. “No. Go home, Dr. McKay. I’ll notify you if something comes up.”

 

When there’s nothing more he can do, John goes to his quarters on the city. They’re small, but he has a balcony and a good view, which is more than many PFs can say. His father’s name still has weight, even if he no longer claims John as his son. He steps outside, leaning on the railing, letting the breeze off the water ruffle his hair.

 

He pulls off his tie and jacket with a sigh of relief, untucks his shirt, and rolls up his sleeves. He can’t risk undressing further, not when he might be called upon at any moment, but he can at least make himself a little more comfortable, and perhaps sleep.

 

The refrigeration unit has cold meat and cheese, and he has bread just this side of stale, so he makes a sandwich. He has no desire to go to one of the communal kitchens tonight.

 

John doesn’t want to see anyone at all.

 

He’s on the balcony with a glass of cheap scotch in his hand, when someone pounds on the door. John considers ignoring it, but knows he doesn’t dare.

 

McKay’s presence isn’t at all what he expected, and the other man barges inside, shouldering past John. His tie is askew and his hair is wild, as though he’s been running his hands through it.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” McKay demands as the door closes automatically behind him.

 

John sighs. “Welcome, Dr. McKay. Please make yourself at home.”

 

“No, really, why didn’t you tell me?” he asks. “I know you probably think of me as a failure, and perhaps I am, but this sort of information is highly pertinent to the job I’m currently doing, and by not telling me, you put all our lives at risk!”

 

“I don’t think of you as a failure,” John protests. “And this isn’t information I share with anyone. It’s certainly not information I share with someone who regularly voices his disdain of anyone belonging to the Houses.”

 

McKay’s face falls. “Oh. I see.”

 

“I have little call to use my bloodline,” John continues. “Once in a while, I take the transporters, but I’m not a student of Ancient technology. You probably know more than I do about it.”

 

“But you can _use_ it!” McKay protests, and John can see the longing and envy in his expression.

 

Suddenly, John understands that most of McKay’s contempt stems from the desire to actually be able to work the Ancient technology he’s spent so long studying. “It’s not as wonderful as you might think,” John replies.

 

“What happened?” McKay asks, with an uncharacteristic burst of astuteness. “Why aren’t you running part of the city, or doing whatever it is that minor lords do?”

 

“Major lord, actually,” John corrects him. “Surely you heard of the Sheppards, even on the Continent.”

 

McKay shakes his head. “I’m from Canada.”

 

“Good for you,” John says automatically.

 

“Sheppard is a common name,” McKay says defensively. “But—wait. They’re importers and exporters. The ones who own half the Continent, and have quite the presence in the United States? _Those_ Sheppards?”

 

“Yes,” John replies. “And I wanted nothing to do with any of it, so I ran away from home and used the money my mother left me to purchase a commission on an airship. I wanted to be a pilot, and it was the only way.”

 

McKay frowns. “Why are you a PF?”

 

“I undertook a dangerous rescue mission against all orders and advice, and I lost my ship and most of my crew,” John replies woodenly. “I was lucky the APF would take me.”

 

McKay gives him a sharp look. “Just as I was lucky they would take _me_?”

 

“It’s not the same thing at all,” John objects.

 

McKay shakes his head. “I was reckless, and I got someone killed. I think it’s very much the same thing.”

 

“Governor O’Neill had Commissioner Weir’s job before this,” John admits. “He took a liking to me, and he gave me a chance.”

 

“Just as you’ve given me an opportunity,” McKay replies. “Don’t think I’m not grateful for that, Commander. I just—I thought we were friends, and I don’t have many.”

 

John smiles. “Nor do I. And please, if we’re off duty, you can call me John.”

 

McKay nods. “John, then. I’m Rodney.”

 

John glances at his half-empty bottle of scotch, and the chess board on the small table in the corner. “Tell me, Rodney. Do you play chess?”

 

Rodney offers a wide, bright smile. “Prepare to be soundly trounced.”

 

John laughs. “Challenge accepted.”

 

**Part II**

 

They do not receive word from the lab that night, or the next morning. The results finally come through late the next day, listing the bomb’s various components; some John recognizes, and some he does not. He passes the list to McKay, who nods as he reads.

 

McKay puts the list on the desk, pointing at each item with a blunt finger, naming each one and giving possible distributors. “I’m not sure where the dynamite would come from, and these items are common enough. But the detonator—it’s as I thought.”

 

“What did you think?” Elizabeth asks. She’s come out of her office to join them.

 

“The arming mechanism has been repurposed, and would need to be activated by someone with the gene,” McKay replies. “The fuse, however, would have been part of one of the motorized vehicles, perhaps a starter.”

 

“That would be why it was armed with a thought,” John observes. “How would a person get their hands on one of these?”

 

“To answer that, I would have to know who has access to the vehicles,” McKay replies. “And whether one has stopped working recently.”

 

“I will request the repair records right away,” Teyla says.

 

“Those vehicles aren’t used often,” John points out. “If the repair records don’t show anything, we’ll need to do an inventory of every vehicle.”

 

“I’ll see to it,” Ronon offers.

 

McKay taps another item. “This timer is something else. It’s composed of high quality gold, and the works are very small, and exquisitely complex. This did not come from an ordinary watch.”

 

John nods, feeling a sense of satisfaction. “There are only three shops on Atlantis that might have sold something like that,” he says. “So, we’ll inquire at those places now while Teyla and Ronon check the vehicles.”

 

“John,” Elizabeth says, a note of caution in her voice. “I don’t need to remind you to go gently.”

 

“No, ma’am,” John replies. “Everything will be by the book.”

 

She nods. “We can’t afford to misstep.”

 

“We won’t,” John says. “Let’s go, McKay.”

 

Because all the vehicles have to be investigated, they walk to the nearest watch shop on John’s list.

 

“How well do you know the owners of these shops?” McKay asks.

 

John smiles ruefully. “Not well. Although my father had a taste for expensive things, I do not, although I’ve met two of the owners in the course of my business as a PF.”

 

It’s something of a relief to have McKay know about his upbringing, and to be able to speak of it so casually. He and Ronon speak little of the past even though they’ve known each other a long time, and Teyla invites confidences but wants to know how John feels. McKay accepts his confidences, and sometimes offers a secret of his own.

 

“My mother was the one with the expensive tastes,” McKay responds. “Very little would satisfy her.”

 

“Your mother and my father would have quite a bit in common, then,” John replies. “I should warn you, my reception here might be chilly.”

 

McKay raises his eyebrows. “Like mine?”

 

“A fair point,” John admits. “But I didn’t think you were recognized very often.”

 

“No, not anymore,” McKay replies. “It seems you were right about people forgetting.”

 

They walk along in silence the rest of the way to the first shop, stepping inside and removing their hats.

 

“Can I help you gentlemen?” the man in the front asks.

 

John glances around. The place looks much as he remembers—it had probably served as large living quarters back when the Ancients had occupied the city. Rooms like these are reserved for high-end shops and top-ranking officials now, with the Houses occupying entire floors in the spires, although most of the Houses maintain additional estates on the Continent.

 

“We’re looking for information on a timepiece you may have sold,” John begins.

 

“John Sheppard?” the man asks.

 

John hides a sigh. “Mr. Wolf. It’s a pleasure.”

 

“It has been too long,” Wolf replies, his eyes glinting, probably thinking that he’s going to have a chance to hear good gossip. “How is your father?”

 

“You would probably know better than I,” John replies. “Doctor, do you have the piece?”

 

They had stopped by the lab to pick it up, and McKay pulls the watch out of his pocket and shows it to Wolf, who shakes his head. “No, I’m afraid I don’t recognize it.”

 

John watches him carefully, but sees no sign of deception. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Wolf.”

 

“Tell your father I said hello,” the old man calls as they leave.

 

“Not likely,” John mutters.

 

“How long has it been since you’ve spoken to your father?” Rodney asks.

 

John shakes his head. “Not since I turned eighteen and ran off.”

 

McKay doesn’t respond to that, and they walk to the next shop, in a different area of the city. The ownership of the shop has changed, and the new proprietor doesn’t recognize John. She’s brusque and businesslike, but she answers their questions readily enough and gives no sign of lying.

 

“If this next shop doesn’t produce results, we may have to entertain the possibility that the piece was purchased on the Continent, and had been a personal item,” McKay suggests.

 

John isn’t terribly happy at that thought. “That will complicate matters considerably.”

 

“Perhaps we’ll be lucky, and get a report of a stolen watch. That might narrow it down,” McKay suggests.

 

John stops cold, grabbing McKay’s arm. “What did you just say?”

 

“There may be a report of a stolen timepiece if it’s that expensive,” McKay replies. “It’s at least possible.”

 

“Lord Meron reported jewelry missing some time ago,” John says. “We suspect a member of the household, but we have no proof.”

 

McKay frowns. “Should we return to headquarters?”

 

“No, we’re almost to the shop,” John says. “We’ll ask there first.”

 

~~~~~

 

The third shop holds no more answers than the first two, but the proprietor looks at Sheppard as though he’s smelling something unpleasant, and is clearly only too happy to get rid of them.

 

Rodney feels a certain amount of sympathy for Sheppard, wondering if he encounters that attitude often among those who had been his peers, or the people who once would have jumped at his orders.

 

“Let’s take a transporter back,” Sheppard says suddenly as they leave the shop. “I’d rather not walk all the way to headquarters.”

 

Sheppard’s expression is a bit reckless, and Rodney can see anger in the set of his jaw. “There’s no law against it, is there?” he asks.

 

Sheppard smirks. “Are you afraid to break a rule or two?”

 

“That would depend on the rule, and whether it’s worth breaking,” Rodney replies.

 

Sheppard shakes his head. “There’s no rule against it.”

 

“Very well, then.” Rodney knows Sheppard is spoiling for a fight at the moment, and he’s grateful when the transporter is empty, and stays that way until the doors open and lets them out near headquarters.

 

“I hope you had better luck than we did,” Sheppard says briskly as they approach Teyla, who is sitting at her desk. Ronon is absent.

 

Teyla shakes her head. “Not as of yet, Commander. There’s no record of such a repair being done in the last six months. I’ve requested earlier records, but haven’t received them.”

 

Sheppard nods. “Do you have the list of items that Lord Meron recently reported stolen?”

 

Teyla appears surprised, and then speculative. “Yes. Among those items was a timepiece. Forgive me, Commander. I should have thought about that.”

 

“I had forgotten as well,” Sheppard assures her. “McKay is the one who thought of it. Who are our suspects?”

 

They’ve discussed the merits of each one by the time Ronon returns. “I found the vehicle,” he announces. “It hadn’t been driven in several weeks and hasn’t been repaired yet.”

 

Sheppard perks up at that. “Is there a possibility of fingerprints?”

 

“I’ve found two,” Ronon confirms.

 

Rodney had been surprised when he’d heard the APF used fingerprinting, but he’d also found it reassuring, since the use of scientific techniques to solve crimes is something Rodney can appreciate.

 

“There are no fingerprints on the timepiece, but there was one on the underside of the starter,” Teyla says. “If we can match those, we may be able to make a connection that way.”

 

“It may be time to bring in a few known Genii,” Sheppard suggests. “I’d like another crack at Kolya.”

 

Teyla frowns. “You know he has friends in a few of the Houses.”

  
“Why would they be friends with someone who’d like to kill them?” Rodney asks, baffled.

 

“That is an excellent question,” Sheppard says. “Some of the Houses view the Genii as quaint agitators that offer no threat since none of them have the gene, at least as far as we know. And I wouldn’t put it past a couple of the lords to be using the Genii to harm some of the others.”

 

Teyla looks at the list of suspects again and says, “Can you give me three hours?”

 

“Do you have additional information?” Sheppard asks.

 

“There’s someone I know who works in Meron’s House, who may know if anyone there has ties to the Genii,” Teyla replies. “He will not speak to anyone but me, however.”

 

Sheppard nods. “Be careful, Teyla.”

 

They wait for Teyla to return and write up arrest warrants with only the names left blank. As evening falls, Sheppard sends one of the lower ranking PFs out to get dinner for all of them, and they eat quickly, not wanting to be interrupted. Rodney thinks that Sheppard had been right in the beginning, when he’d said that most of being a PF is boredom.

 

There’s a sense of camaraderie as they eat together and wait, joking around. Dr. Weir comes out to join them, eating the Ploughman’s lunch that was delivered.

 

When Teyla returns, Rodney is just finishing his meal, and she wears a triumphant smile. “I believe I know who is responsible for the bombing.”

 

It turns out that Teyla’s friend works closely with a known Genii sympathizer, and another Genii named Sora. A conversation had been overheard between the two, involving a timepiece. Her friend hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, since he’s sympathetic to the Genii’s politics, as many on Atlantis apparently are. Rodney knows he had been before he’d begun working with the APF.

 

With that information, they write up warrants for the two, making a special request for their fingerprints, and send it off to a magistrate.

 

“Go home,” Elizabeth says, once that’s done. “It’s been a long day, and the magistrate won’t be called out of bed for something that isn’t a matter of life or death. The soonest they’ll be brought in is tomorrow morning.”

 

Sheppard nods wearily. “I think you’re right, Elizabeth. We’ll see you early tomorrow.”

 

Rodney walks out with Sheppard, Teyla, and Ronon, strangely reluctant to leave their company. Sheppard says, “I won’t be able to sleep for some time. Does anyone else want to get a drink?”

 

The pub near headquarters that many PFs frequent after a shift is cramped and poorly lit, although it’s late enough now that there aren’t many around. John’s rank clears a small table, and they crowd around it and several pints of beer.

 

“I miss the beer at home,” Rodney admits suddenly.

 

Sheppard and Ronon both nod. “We had excellent beer in Germany when we were on the airship,” Sheppard says. “Do you remember, Ronon?”

 

Ronon grins, showing his teeth. “We got into a few brawls, too.”

 

“There are plenty who would pick a fight with the crew of an airship,” Sheppard says with a sly smile. “But few who would win.”

 

“Were you on an airship, too?” Rodney asks Teyla.

 

She shakes her head. “I was supposed to take over my father’s shop. He was a merchant of fine goods who traveled to Atlantis frequently. When he was killed, I asked to help. John agreed, and I have been with him ever since.”

 

Not for the first time, Rodney wonders if Sheppard and Teyla have an understanding, but he sees no sign of affection between them other than what might be seen between siblings.

 

“Where are you from?” Rodney asks her. He’s wanted to ask before but felt it might be impertinent. It still might, but this seems a good enough time as any.

 

“All over,” she replies. “My people tend to go wherever the wind takes them, often quite literally. I’m the first in four generations to settle on one place.” She offers a mischievous smile. “I’m considered scandalous among the Athosians.”

 

They all laugh, and the subject changes, and Rodney wonders at what an odd group they are.

 

“I’ll walk you to your quarters,” Sheppard offers when they call it a night. “We can take the transporter. It’s safer.”

 

Sheppard’s been more inclined to make use of the transporters recently, and Rodney isn’t sure whether it’s because Sheppard doesn’t have to hide his ability to use Ancient technology or he’s feeling reckless.

 

When they reach the door to Rodney’s quarters, Sheppard pauses, his green eyes glittering in the dim light. For a moment, Rodney thinks Sheppard might reach for him, and his heart speeds up.

 

 _So beautiful_ , Rodney thinks, and normally he ignores those impulses because it’s not safe. He likes women as well as men, and here on Atlantis there aren’t as many taboos, at least if you’re not a member of a House and expected to enter an arranged marriage.

 

But the moment passes with only Sheppard’s hand brushing his. “You did excellent work today, Dr. McKay.”

 

“Thank you, Commander Sheppard,” Rodney replies, and feels Sheppard’s hand brush his again. “Good night.”

 

Sheppard leans close, and then smiles. “Good night.”

 

And Rodney enters his quarters hoping that Sheppard hadn’t noticed Rodney’s response to his proximity. That’s not something he can easily explain, especially if Sheppard doesn’t share his interest.

 

He also hopes that Sheppard _does_ share his interest. Rodney doesn’t think he can take it otherwise.

 

~~~~~

 

At Elizabeth’s insistence, John lets the uniforms pick Sora and Tyrus up, since she doesn’t want to risk her best team on the chance that there might be armed resistance. “That’s what uniforms are for, John. When they work their way up the ranks, they’ll be able to say the same.”

 

The uniforms take their fingerprints, and then the two prisoners are placed in separate interrogation rooms. John directs Ronon and Teyla to question Tyrus, while he and McKay take Sora.

 

Aside from a few petty thieves, McKay hasn’t had cause to be part of questioning a suspect, and John says, “Take my lead, please.”

 

McKay nods.

 

John takes the seat across from Sora, and McKay sits next to him. “Hello, Sora,” John says. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but once we determine that your fingerprints don’t match those on the bomb, we’ll let you go.”

 

“Fingerprints?” Sora asks, her placid expression showing a hint of alarm.

 

“Dr. McKay?” he prompts.

 

“Each person has a different set of fingerprints,” McKay explains. “Ridges and whorls and loops that are unique to them and can be distinguished from all others.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sora protests.

 

“Then you’re not a member of the Genii?” John asks.

 

Sora shakes her head. “No, of course not. They’re a terrorist group.”

 

“They’re a recognized political group,” McKay replies. “There’s no shame in being part of the Genii; there’s only shame in killing innocents.”

 

John gives McKay a warning glance.

 

“I would never!” Sora exclaims. “And neither would the Genii! They’re—”

 

She stops, and John grins. She’s very young and susceptible to mind games; they can work with that.

 

“They’re what?” John asks.

 

Sora lifts her chin. “They’re honorable people. They want to return Atlantis to its true inheritors.”

 

“And who are _they_?” John inquires. “The Genii?”

 

Sora’s pretty face twists up into an expression of utter contempt. “We’ll be better than the Houses.”

 

“So you say,” McKay snaps. “Many have said as much. No one has been able to capitalize on that. I doubt you can either.”

 

Sora leans back in her seat, a defiant expression on her face. “You can’t prove anything.”

 

“I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?” John says. “When your fingerprints come back as a match to those on the bomb, you’ll hang for it.”

 

Sora crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not saying anymore until those results come in. I’ll be exonerated.”

 

Unfortunately, she’s right. The fingerprints are not a match to either Sora or Tyrus, and there’s no cause to hold them.

 

John curses as the orders go through, and Sora and Tyrus walk free. “It’s only a matter of time,” Teyla consoles him. “We’ll catch them.”

 

“It’s Kolya, I know it,” John says. “I realize we haven’t been able to collect his fingerprints, but there _must_ be a way.”

 

“There’s no way we’ll be allowed anywhere near him without proof,” Teyla objects. “You know his power.”

 

“Where does he buy his drinks?” McKay asks.

 

John stares at him. “What?”

 

“Where does he buy his drinks?” McKay repeats. “If we know that, we might be able to purchase the glass from the proprietor. As long as we have confirmation that the glass came from Kolya’s hand, we’ll be able to prove that his fingerprints are there. And if we can match them to the fingerprints on the bomb, we’ll be able to prove that he was responsible.”

 

John blinks, and then slowly grins, clapping McKay on the shoulder. “We’ll make an inspector of you yet! Brilliant idea, Rodney.”

 

McKay flushes. “Thank you, Commander.”

 

“He knows your face too well,” Ronon objects. “We’ll have to put men on him, rotate them in shifts. We’ll get what we need.”

 

There’s not much they can do on the case after that. John wants to follow a couple more leads, but they don’t pan out. He’s tired and frustrated, and he wants to put a stop to the Genii’s activities on Atlantis, and he wants to fly again, and a whole host of other things he can’t have.

 

John is tired of wanting things he can’t have.

 

“We should play chess,” McKay suggests when John calls it a night for the whole team. “And drink. I think that alcohol is called for.”

 

John smiles. “I don’t have much left,” he admits.

 

“That’s fine,” Rodney assures him. “You get the food. I’ll bring the whisky.”

 

John picks up an Atlantean specialty—fish pies—and puts them in the warmer while he waits for McKay to arrive. He’s nervous, like a boy courting a girl for the first time, and he tells himself that it’s ridiculous, that he’d imagined that moment, and McKay’s interest outside his quarters.

 

His preferences might run to men, but he’s found few worth the risk over the years. As part of an airship crew, relationships had been discouraged, and on Atlantis, there are few who deem him worth it.

 

Not that anything will happen tonight, even if they are both interested, John tells himself. He still has one secret he hasn’t yet told, and he’s not sure he’s ready to yet.

 

McKay enters with a bottle of amber liquid under one arm. “I know it doesn’t look like much,” he begins. “But I’ve been told it’s very good.”

 

“I’m not sure I care tonight,” John admits. “Come in. Sit down.”

 

They dig into the flaky crust of the fish pies, and John savors the delicate gravy and perfectly cooked vegetables.

 

“Oh, god, where did you get this?” McKay asks.

 

John grins. “There’s an old woman who sells them. I’ve been buying them off her since I was a teenager, before I ran away from home.”

 

“It’s delicious,” McKay mumbles around a full mouth, and then applies himself completely to his dinner.

 

John finishes first and pours them each an after-dinner drink. “A game of chess?” he suggests.

 

“I’d love to,” McKay replies, wiping his mouth. “Thank you for dinner.”

 

“I’ll let Maggie know you enjoyed it,” John replies. “They’re a little more expensive, but her meat pies are even better if you can believe it.”

 

“I can’t,” McKay says definitively. “I refuse to believe it until I’ve tasted proof. I am a scientist after all.”

 

They both start laughing at that, so hard that John has tears in his eyes before they bring themselves under control.

 

“You have been my saving grace through this,” McKay says seriously, when their laughter has died away.

 

John shakes his head. “You give yourself too little credit, Rodney,” he objects, feeling greatly daring for using McKay’s first name.

 

Rodney colors, his mobile mouth twisting, first into a frown, then a smile. “I think I’ve learned from the best.”

 

They stare at one another, and John thinks seriously about closing the distance between them, pressing a kiss to that fascinating mouth, but it feels like too great a risk. The friendship they have now—the delicious fish pies, the whisky, and the game of chess—John cannot bring himself to put that in jeopardy for something that might be transitory.

 

He doesn’t think it will be long now, but Governor O’Neill will ask Rodney to go back to the ranks of the city engineers, and John will have only this—only memories of evenings spent together, and the warm fires of a fleeting friendship. John will not end it before he must.

 

Rodney clears his throat. “You said something about a game of chess.”

 

They play hard and fast the first game, and Rodney wins. John insists on a rematch, and they reset the board.

 

“Can I ask you a question?” Rodney asks.

 

“You can ask,” John replies.

 

Rodney looks down as the rows of black pieces, as they’ve switched colors. “Who was Aiden Ford?”

 

John swallows hard, and has no intention of telling him when Rodney adds, “The thing is, when I was stunned by the Wraith, I heard you call out his name, and Teyla said that he was one of yours, but had been taken by the Wraith. She said you would be impossible to live with, but I didn’t notice a difference.”

 

“Then you know everything already,” John replies. “We was a member of my team, and we lost him to the Wraith. That’s all.”

 

By the time John’s called checkmate, they’ve consumed the better part of the bottle of whisky, and John isn’t about to let Rodney walk back to his quarters alone. “Stay on my couch,” he urges, and Rodney agrees.

 

John doesn’t think he would have fallen asleep so quickly, or slept so soundly, if not for the alcohol helping him along. As it is, the whisky serves to cause him to forget Rodney’s presence the next morning, so that he performs his morning ablutions without thought of covering up.

 

It’s only when he hears Rodney’s gasp that John remembers what Rodney can surely see on his back.

 

“I didn’t think you had any modifications,” Rodney says in a choked voice.

 

“They’re no longer functional,” John replies, flushing dully, already heading through the door to his bedroom to throw on some clothes.

 

“No, wait,” Rodney calls. “Please.”

 

John freezes, hearing Rodney’s footsteps as he closes the distance between them, feeling the heat from his body as his hand hovers over the implants in John’s back, just over the shoulder blades.

 

“That must have hurt,” Rodney murmurs.

 

“A bit,” John admits.

 

Rodney traces the outer rim of the sockets, fingers just brushing John’s skin, and says, “What happened?”

 

“I got these the same day I bought my commission,” John admits. “Mods are easier to get, and easier to integrate if you have the bloodline. I wanted to fly, and I didn’t want to trust that I’d work my way up to a pilot.”

 

“But you did,” Rodney says, his large, warm hand coming to rest in the middle of John’s back.

 

“That wasn’t a sure thing,” John replies. “This was.”

 

Rodney’s tone turns wondering. “I think I saw you, my first day on the city. I saw a man flying around the spires.”

 

John breathes shallowly, trying not to let on how Rodney’s touch affects him. “It was probably me. They broke not long after that, I think.” He laughs, knowing the sound holds bitter humor. “The irony is that my father might have forgiven me for the modifications, and I could have paid to have them fixed if I had been content with only wings. Instead, when they broke, I had no money to fix them, and I’d lost my ship. And flying is all I ever wanted to do.”

 

Rodney’s fingers curl against John’s spine, and he says, “I may be able to fix them. At least, I can try.”

 

“Please don’t,” John says, hating the catch in his voice. “I don’t think I could bear to be disappointed.”

 

Rodney’s hand moves up to cup the back of John’s neck. “Will you tell me not to try?”

 

“No, I won’t tell you that,” John replies. “Just don’t give me hope.”

 

“I’ll do what I can,” Rodney promises. “That’s all.”

 

John nods. “Thank you. That’s more than I had yesterday.” He releases a shaky breath. “We should get ready for work.”

 

“I need to go home and get a clean shirt,” Rodney replies, his hand dropping away, leaving a cool spot on John’s back. “I’ll meet you there. But if you have the hardware…”

 

John nods goes into his bedroom to collect his wings, wrapped in a piece of canvas, a light but awkward bundle. “Thank you.”

 

“So you’ve said,” Rodney replies. “I’ll work on this when I have time.”

 

“Don’t tell me,” John asks. “Until you know for certain one way or another, don’t tell me.”

 

Rodney nods. “Of course, Commander. I’ll see you soon.”

 

The door swishes shut behind Rodney, and John savors the unfamiliar, almost unwelcome taste of hope.

 

~~~~~

 

Rodney thinks of the broken wings in his quarters often after he’s reported for duty. He hasn’t had free rein with Ancient technology in ages, and he can’t wait to begin tinkering, although he’s well aware of his responsibilities as a PF. Even though all he wants is to immerse himself in the engineering and mechanics, Rodney knows that if he fails in this, he may face a worse fate.

 

When he’d been told to report to the APF, Rodney had thought it couldn’t get worse. Now, having seen some of the worst areas on the city, he knows that there are those who do nothing but clean the desalination tanks or the sewage processing works.

 

John would probably joke that the APF _does_ deal with sewage day in and day out, and Rodney would probably laugh, but he knows better now. Worse yet would be failing John, and damaging their friendship.

 

The sun begins to set, and Rodney thinks longingly of the opportunity to tinker with John’s wings. His thoughts are interrupted when the floor trembles underneath him, and he hears the faint reverberations from an explosion.

 

“What the hell?” Rodney asks.

 

John looks up alertly from the report he’d been reading. “A bomb,” he explains succinctly. “We’ll need to find out where. They’ll need us on cleanup.”

 

“This might be what we need to pull in every known member and associate of the Genii on the city,” Teyla says. “The lords will not protect murderers.”

 

“If the opportunity comes to press our advantage, I’ll be sure to take it,” John promises. “But right now, we need to deal with the problem at hand.”

 

Headquarters is near the central spire, and according to the panicked messenger, the explosion occurred just north of it, in one of the main water reclamation plants.

 

“That’s not good,” Rodney mutters. “That plant provides water for nearly a third of the city.”

 

“Well, that should get the attention of the Houses,” John mutters.

 

Ronon grunts. “Meron’s house is in that sector.”

 

John swears creatively, and Rodney is impressed with the range of suggestions John has for anatomically impossible things Meron could do.

 

“Acastus Kolya is a particular friend of Meron’s,” Teyla explains in an undertone. “He and John have had a few disagreements.”

 

“He’s been a damnable thorn in my side,” John snarls as he runs out of headquarters. “I’d prefer him dead, but I’ll take exile.”

 

Rodney stays on John’s heels, grateful when John insists on taking the transporters. He’s not used to running.

 

Governor O’Neill is present when they arrive on the scene, and Rodney resists the urge to hide. He hasn’t seen O’Neill since that embarrassing dressing down, when he’d been informed that he was confined to the city and would be serving the APF.

 

“Governor,” John says as they come to a stop in front of him. “We’re here to help. Do we have any information on what caused the explosion?”

 

“What is _he_ doing here?”

 

The booming voice causes Rodney to wince. He’s met Lord Meron in passing, during various boring parties that city engineers and scientists were pressed into attending. He’s never liked the man, but he has a feeling that his distaste is going to turn personal very soon.

 

“I have no idea what you mean, Lord Meron,” O’Neill replies, turning toward the florid, stocky man approaching them.

 

Meron glares. “Have you considered that one of your highest ranking detectives has every reason to aid these terrorists?”

 

O’Neill’s smile holds no amusement. “I have no idea what you mean.”

 

“Sheppard! That blood traitor!” Meron seethes. “He’s here! We all know that it took a member of a House to arm the last bomb. How do we know it wasn’t him?”

 

Rodney speaks before he can think better of it. “For one thing, Commander Sheppard was with one or more members of the APF when the last bomb was armed, and when this one went off.”

 

Meron turned his dark, beady eyes to Rodney. “Ah, it’s the murderer.”

 

Rodney crosses his arms across his chest. “Is _that_ the best you can do?”

 

O’Neill clears his throat. “Meron, I’ll thank you to remember that I’m the governor of this city, not you, and I’m certain of Sheppard’s loyalty, which has always been to Atlantis. As for Dr. McKay, he’s proven himself as a PF.”

 

Rodney’s a little surprised at the praise, but when he opens his mouth to reply, John steps on his toes.

 

“He betrayed his own kind,” Meron snaps, throwing a contemptuous look at John. “Muddling about with the dregs of society, turning his back on his family.”

 

O’Neill steps between John and Meron, forcing Meron to look at him. “Leave, Meron, or risk being arrested for interfering with official city business.”

 

“No charges against me will ever stand,” Meron says haughtily.

 

“No, but they’d get you out of my hair for a time, and I’m sure obeying my orders would give my people great satisfaction.” O’Neill meets Meron glare for glare. “If you don’t leave now, I _will_ arrest you.”

 

Meron stalks off in a huff, and Rodney breathes a sigh of relief.

 

“I’ll thank you to keep your mouth shut next time,” O’Neill says, looking at Rodney. “Sheppard, your team’s to be available for the rescue operations. McKay, if you have any expertise to offer, it would be appreciated.”

 

John nods. “Sir, after we’re done here, I’d like authority to round up any Genii or their known sympathizers on the city.”

 

“Find me evidence that this attack could be attributed to the Genii, and you’ll have that authority,” O’Neill promises. “Whatever I have to do to secure it.”

 

Rodney will never forget what he sees during that rescue operation. There are children killed by the concussion, who look like they’re sleeping, and hands and feet that have been torn off, of both children and adults. There’s a pregnant woman who has been torn apart, her unborn child visible but clearly dead. Rodney sees a man who has been decapitated, and another sobbing uncontrollably as medics cart him off, his hands nothing but bloody stumps.

 

He somehow manages to prevent his stomach from rebelling, working with his team to find survivors and bag body parts and bodies. The terrible cost of what the bomber has wrought is impressed upon Rodney’s mind, and his heart aches.

 

Although he still feels regret over Collins’ death, these casualties present a separate issue. Collins had chosen to work with Ancient energy sources, and Rodney believes he knew the risks. These men, women, and children could not say the same; they probably never thought about dying at the hands of terrorists.

 

Rodney feels a burning in his chest that can only be called righteous anger, something he’s never felt before.

 

When they’re sent off duty, it’s well into the next morning, and Rodney is covered in soot and blood. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get the stench of burnt flesh and brine water out of his clothing.

 

“You’d better come with me,” John says. “Your quarters are in the part of the city that will be most affected by water loss. You might as well take advantage of the hot water while you can still get it.”

 

“Will this affect the entire city?”

 

John’s expression turns sardonic. “Meron will insist upon rationing. He’ll say it’s because the entire city stands or falls together, but in reality, he wants to make certain that others are suffering just as much as he is.”

 

They take the transporters to Rodney’s quarters for clean clothing, and then Rodney follows John to his quarters. While they’re on the way, an announcement comes over the city’s loudspeaker, rarely used except in an emergency, probably because no one understands how it works.

 

“Water rationing is in effect for the entire city. Those on lower levels are advised that all water consumption other than drinking water is restricted. Upper levels will be restricted tomorrow,” Governor O’Neill’s voice states.

 

“We’d better hurry,” John says as they enter his quarters. “They’ll probably shut off bathing water soon, and I’d rather not smell like charred flesh.”

 

“You can go first,” Rodney offers, feeling magnanimous.

 

John frowns. “What are you talking about, man? We’ll save water if we bathe at the same time.”

 

Rodney’s surprise must have shown on his face, because John grins. “On an airship, there’s limited water and limited space. We shared bathing facilities all the time. You need not fear for your virtue, McKay.”

 

Rodney meets John’s gaze with a challenging look of his own. “I wouldn’t call what I feel fear.”

 

John’s expression softens. “Come then. If we’re going to do this, I’d rather not smell like a charnel house.”

 

Under other circumstances, Rodney might have found it arousing, as they slip past each other to stand under the water, slick skin against slick skin.

 

Actually, Rodney _does_ find it arousing, and John does, too, judging from his response, although neither of them makes a move. Mostly, they want to get clean before it becomes impossible to do so, and then John says, “My bed is big enough for two.”

 

Rodney feels strange accepting John’s invitation, but he doesn’t regret it. John’s strong arm pulls him close, John’s nose presses against Rodney’s neck, and Rodney leans back against John.

 

It’s probably too warm to be sharing such close quarters, but Rodney doesn’t mind. He’s grateful for the company, thinking that John’s proximity might keep the nightmares at bay.

 

That might be a futile hope, but at least that night, he’s rewarded, because he sleeps soundly until the sun begins to peek over the horizon, just visible through John’s balcony windows. John is twitching, rolling away from Rodney until he’s scant inches from falling to the floor, and muttering unintelligibly.

 

Rodney hesitates to wake him, but the noises John makes are so pitiful that he decides he has no choice.

 

“John,” he calls. “John, you’re safe now. It’s all right. Wake up.”

 

John breathes in sharply, and his eyes snap open. “Rodney?”

 

“Yes,” Rodney says. “You’re safe. It’s okay.”

 

John shudders.

 

“John?”

 

“I’m okay,” he insists. “I just need a minute.”

 

Rodney sees the sweat on John’s forehead, dripping down his neck and beaded on his chest. “You could take another shower,” he suggests. “If you want to cool off.”

 

John shakes his head. “No, not when there are those who will go without if I do. We might not be formally rationed, but those at the bottom will suffer while those at the top are satisfied.”

 

“And now you sound like one of us,” Rodney says, trying to make light of it. “Do you think we’ll be given leave to arrest the Genii?”

 

“Even if we are, we can’t hold them without a confession or evidence,” John replies. “We might be able to exile some of the smaller fish who have no ties to Atlantis, or powerful protectors.”

 

“And those who do have ties and protectors?” Rodney counters.

 

“They’ll stay,” John replies. “And we’ll have to deal with the consequences.”

 

“And this Kolya?” Rodney asks.

 

John sighs. “I do not know.” He offers Rodney a wry smile. “I’m sorry we did not do more than sleep.”

 

“Another night,” Rodney suggests.

 

“I’d like that,” John says, smiling shyly, leaving Rodney feeling as though he’s said exactly the right thing, which never happens.

 

Rodney presses a kiss to John’s lips, dry and almost chaste, until John’s mouth opens and the tip of his tongue traces Rodney’s upper lip. In a moment, chaste turns absolutely filthy, and Rodney groans against John’s mouth.

 

“We have work,” John murmurs against his mouth.

 

“As long as it’s been since I’ve done this, I can be very quick,” Rodney jokes.

 

John chuckles, and his hand surrounds Rodney’s cock.

 

Rodney shifts, pressing his thigh between John’s, and John’s hips begin rock to the same rhythm his hand is keeping. He’d be embarrassed at how quickly he comes, but John is right behind him.

 

“We’ve got time for a quick wash,” John says. “We’ll use a wash rag.”

 

Rodney smiles. “John…”

 

John frowns. “This is okay, isn’t it? I thought—”

 

“This is more than okay,” Rodney insists. “It’s okay with you?”

 

John presses a quick, hard kiss to Rodney’s lips. “It’s nearly as good as flying.”

 

Rodney knows that coming from a pilot, it’s one of the best compliments he can get.

 

~~~~~

 

John enters headquarters just a little late, but he beats Rodney in. Ronon greets him with a grin that suggests Christmas has come early.

 

“Ronon?” John asks. “Would you care to share?”

 

“I’ll wait ‘til McKay arrives,” Ronon replies, still grinning, leaning back in his chair.

 

John frowns, disgruntled, but knowing that nothing will budge Ronon when he’s made up his mind.

 

Rodney comes bustling in a few minutes later, a little red in the face, sweat beading on his forehead. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, sliding into his chair. “I got held up.”

 

John keeps a straight face with effort, thinking of what had caused Rodney to be late. “Ronon? The news?”

 

“Those following Kolya succeeded in their mission to retrieve his fingerprints,” Ronon replies. “And they’re a match to the bomb that didn’t go off.”

 

John grins. “Now, _that’s_ good news! And the Genii?”

 

“With the evidence against Kolya, we have to bring him and his known associates in for questioning,” Ronon confirms. “It’s being done even as we speak.”

 

“Now I know Christmas has come early,” John says, casting a sly look at Rodney, whose ears turn pink, although he shows no other sign of embarrassment. “How are we doing on that?”

 

“We’re making progress,” Teyla tells him. “They started at dawn.”

 

“Who signed the order?” John asks.

 

Ronon raises his eyebrows and smirks. “Your friend the governor.”

 

John feels a satisfied glow. “I guess they must have angered him as much as they did me. Let me know when they bring in Kolya.”

 

He whiles away the next couple of hours writing up his report on the bombing the previous day, keeping an eye on the door, knowing that they’ll bring Kolya in that way to one of the main interrogation rooms. The others will likely be taken to the large holding cells below the North Pier.

 

When they do bring Kolya in, the man is grinning as though he’s planned for this, and that irritates John. Kolya is an intelligent man, but he consistently telegraphs his emotions and next move. Right now, he looks way too smug for a man who had just been arrested, and John doesn’t like it.

 

“Take him to Interrogation Room 3,” John orders. “And hold him there.”

 

“How long do you think that’s going to last?” Rodney mutters. “Even with his fingerprints, we may not have enough evidence to convict him.”

 

John shrugs. “We’ll have enough to get him banished. Right now, I want that more than anything.”

 

At least, that’s what he thinks right up until Sora runs in, Lord Meron on her heels. “Where is he?” Sora demands.

 

John rises to greet her. “Where’s who?”

 

“Commander Kolya,” Sora replies. “He didn’t do it. You must know that.”

 

“He’s in an interrogation room,” John says, catching a glimpse of Elizabeth as she emerges from her office. “And you know I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with you.”

 

“Miss Sora has something she would like to tell you,” Meron says officiously. “Sora?”

 

“Commander Kolya wasn’t the one who built the bombs,” she blurts out. “I asked him to get the parts for me, but he didn’t know what I intended.”

 

John feels Kolya’s certain conviction and expulsion from the city slipping from his fingers. “You’re confessing to a hanging offense.”

 

“I know it!” she exclaims recklessly. “But I can’t let an innocent man die for my crimes.”

 

Meron clears his throat. “There? You see, Sheppard? This unfortunate event is the product of a disturbed girl’s mind.”

 

“There were more than thirty dead,” John replies harshly. “Men, women, and children, killed by a bomb. I call that premeditated murder.”

 

“I suppose we’ll have to let a judge determine that,” Meron replies. “But I think you had better let Mr. Kolya go.”

 

“Not until I have a signed order from the governor,” John replies, his back well and truly up.

 

Meron sneers. “I should have known you’d say that. You’re no better than his catamite.”

 

John isn’t hurt; he’s had worse terms slung at him, and he knows full well that O’Neill and Samantha Carter keep company, even though Carter refuses to marry him, knowing it would likely mean her expulsion from the ranks of the city engineers.

 

He can feel Rodney’s ire rise, however, and John shoots him a quick look, warning against saying anything, knowing that drawing Meron’s attention now will ruin his chances at going back to his old position.

 

“If you’ll have a seat, Lord Meron,” Elizabeth says smoothly, distracting Meron, and nodding at John.

 

John says, “Sora, you’re under arrest for suspicion of mass murder, and attempted murder.”

 

It feels good to say the words even though John knows the charges probably won’t stick. Sora will take the blame for now, but she’ll change her tune later when the possibility of hanging becomes real. She’ll blame Kolya’s influence at that point, or claim he threatened her to secure her confession, but Kolya will have fled the city by then, helped by such benefactors as Meron.

 

“Imbecile,” Rodney mutters, low enough so that Meron can’t hear him.

 

And that feels good, too, even though it’s not much of a victory.

 

John takes Sora away in irons, telling Ronon as he leaves, “Call the governor. Tell him he has to give the order.”

 

He places Sora in a holding room, and ignores Meron as they wait for O’Neill’s arrival. It’s the only comfort he has; the euphoria from the morning’s news has completely faded away.

 

O’Neill stalks into APF headquarters, his jaw set. “Lord Meron.”

 

“Tell your men a mistake has been made,” Meron says, unable to hold back a smirk. “And order Mr. Kolya’s release.”

 

O’Neill nods at John. “Sheppard, release him. With a confession from Sora, there’s not enough to hold him.”

 

John signals to Ronon and Teyla, who quietly slip out, and Meron puffs his chest out, straining the buttons on his expensive suit. “And I would think you’d discipline your man for jumping to unwarranted conclusions.”

 

“Sheppard acted circumspectly to protect the city,” O’Neill snaps. “Don’t try my patience.”

 

Meron sneers. “The day will come when you’re no longer in charge of this city, O’Neill.”

 

“And that day has not yet arrived.” O’Neill turns to look at Kolya as Teyla and Ronon escort him into the room. “Kolya, by my authority as governor, you’re hereby banished from the city. You have one day to arrange passage off the city. If you haven’t done so, I’ll throw you off the North Pier and let you swim to land.”

 

“You can’t do that!” Meron protests. “There’s no evidence against him.”

 

“There’s evidence,” O’Neill says darkly. “There just isn’t enough evidence to charge him, more’s the pity.”

 

“You won’t be around forever,” Meron says. “One of these days—”

 

“One of these days, Atlantis will choose my successor, and I have every intention of seeing that it’s someone suitable—such as Commander Sheppard.”

 

Meron looks alarmed for the first time. “The Houses would never accept him.”

 

O’Neill smiles thinly. “The Houses’ approval doesn’t mean much when it’s Atlantis’ acceptance that matters.”

 

Meron turns a contemptuous gaze to John. “Sheppard should have drowned you at birth. That’s what I would have done. Mr. Kolya, come. I’ll arrange passage for you.”

 

John keeps his expression blank, not letting on how much the comment stung. His father had said something similar to John the day he’d left home. Losing Kolya after coming so close to finally getting the charges to stick is bad enough, but to have Meron pour salt into the wound, using those precise words…

 

He knows better than to respond, particularly with Kolya standing there; John won’t give the bastard that satisfaction.

 

Kolya smiles smugly, and offers a casual salute to John as he strolls out. “See you around, Sheppard.”

 

O’Neill motions at a couple of uniforms. “Follow them, and keep a sharp eye on Kolya,” he orders.

 

“What’s that about?” Rodney asks, sounding bewildered. “What does it mean that Atlantis chooses the governor?”

 

“The governor is selected by the city, not the Houses,” O’Neill explains. “Candidates may present themselves, but Atlantis selects the successor. I’m fairly certain that Sheppard would beat all comers.”

 

“Not that I’d try,” John inserts.

 

O’Neill shoots him a look. “You might not have a choice. Atlantis will make a selection from the offered candidates, no matter how unsuitable they might be.”

 

“If you make it an order, I’ll follow it,” John replies with a sigh. “I wouldn’t want to see her fall into Meron’s hands.”

 

O’Neill nods. “I’m sorry this didn’t turn out differently, John. I do believe that Kolya is responsible, but with Sora’s confession, there’s not much I can do.”

 

John nods. “I understand, sir.”

 

“And for what it’s worth, I know your brother, and you’re worth ten of him,” O’Neill adds. “Meron had no cause to say that to you.”

 

John shrugs. “I’ve heard worse.”

 

“No doubt,” O’Neill agrees. “Still, it was uncalled for, and I’m sorry you had to hear it.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

O’Neill stalks out of headquarters, and Rodney stares at John. “What was all of that?”

 

“In order to make himself feel better, my father told everyone that I was not his son by blood because my mother had been unfaithful to him,” John replies woodenly. “As my mother was not alive to defend her honor, and I had been disowned, most of those belonging to the Houses believed it.”

 

Rodney rolls his eyes. “I will never understand this obsession with bloodlines. What matters is your intelligence and what you do with it.”

 

John smiles. “That’s very democratic of you.”

 

“Well, I did attend college in America,” Rodney admits. “In this much at least I believe they have the right of it.”

 

“I think there are many who would agree with you,” Teyla says. “Although I do not believe that even the Americans are so fair minded.”

 

Rodney preens a bit. “There are very few who are as fair minded as I am.”

 

John catches Teyla’s eye and pulls a face, and she giggles. Ronon grins broadly, and Rodney shrugs self-deprecatingly, acknowledging the joke at his own expense. It’s a welcome break in the tension.

 

“We should get back to work,” John says. “Ronon, Teyla, will you take Sora and see to the others’ release? I don’t think I can be trusted in the same room with her right now.”

 

“Of course, Commander,” Teyla responds formally, pressing a hand against John’s shoulder, a wordless reminder that his team cares nothing for the rumors of John’s parentage, or his dark past.

 

“We should get through the reports,” John says.

 

They work steadily for the rest of the day, and as dinner approaches, John asks casually, “Do you want to get a drink? Perhaps play a game of chess?”

 

“I can’t,” Rodney replies, sounding distracted. “Another night, maybe.”

 

John hides his hurt. After their tryst this morning, he’d hoped for more tonight, or at least more of an explanation. Still, he won’t beg.  “Of course. Another night.”

 

He can buy another bottle of scotch. After the day he’s had, John thinks he deserves it.

 

~~~~~

 

Rodney keeps putting John off, not because he wants to, but because he wants to give John joy, and he’d seen the longing in John’s face when he’d spoken of flying. And because John has asked Rodney not to say anything about the wings until he’s done, he does just that, making excuses he’s sure John sees right through.

 

Plus, the problem calls to him; it’s the first bit of tinkering he’s had the chance to spend serious time on, and he finds himself falling back into old habits, staying up until the early hours of the morning and drinking as much coffee as it takes to keep him awake. And when John asks him to come over, Rodney says he’s busy.

 

A week after the trouble with Kolya, Rodney’s surprised when O’Neill calls him to his office and tells him to come alone.

 

“You’ve done better than anyone expected,” O’Neill says without preamble.

 

“Thank you,” Rodney replies cautiously.

 

O’Neill sighs. “Unfortunately, that mess with Kolya has Meron insisting that you be banished, or keelhauled, or some such.”

 

Rodney braces himself for bad news. “I see.”

 

“I think it’s going to be at least another six months before I can quietly transfer you back to the city engineers,” O’Neill continues.

 

Rodney swallows. “I don’t want to be transferred back.”

 

O’Neill raises his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

 

“I’d rather you not transfer me back,” Rodney says, stronger now. “But I’d like the chance to work with the engineers again, if that’s possible.”

 

“Let me get this straight,” O’Neill says slowly. “You’d like to remain with the APF.”

 

“I’d like to stay with my team,” Rodney replies. “We’re doing important work. They’re better with me than without.”

 

O’Neill smiles. “You’ve impressed me, McKay. I didn’t know that was possible.”

 

Rodney winces, hearing the veiled insult. “Thank you?”

 

“I’ll let you know if the engineers can use your services,” O’Neill replies. “But I will consider you a permanent member of the Atlantis Peacekeeping Forces.”

 

Rodney nods and hurries back to his quarters because he’s close to finishing—so close he can taste it, and the sooner he can finish it, the sooner John will be in the air.

 

And the sooner Rodney will be able to convince John to have thank you sex with him.

 

He has the next day off, and he works nonstop until he’s certain that the wings are done and are safe. Rodney doesn’t even bother with a wash, and he eats only when he must, and then he takes the entire bundle to John’s quarters.

 

“What are you doing here?” John asks, sounding surly when the door slides open.

 

Rodney pushes his way inside. “What are you talking about?”

 

“You’ve been ignoring me!” John says, his voice rising. “For the past week!”

 

Rodney blinks at him, trying to figure out what John meant. “What? No! I’ve been working on these,” he replies, setting his bundle down on John’s settee. “Just as you asked.”

 

John pinches the bridge of his nose. “You _haven’t_ been avoiding me?”

 

“Why would I do that?” Rodney asks, bewildered. “I told O’Neill I wanted to stay on the team.”

 

John holds up a hand. “Let’s start from the beginning. We had sex, I asked you to come over the next evening, you said no. When I asked you again, you said no. I stopped asking, you didn’t offer.”

 

“Yes, because I was working!” Rodney protests. “I knew it would make you happy! That’s all I wanted!”

 

John stares at him. “Oh.”

 

“Yes, _oh_ ,” Rodney replies sarcastically. “And yesterday, Governor O’Neill told me it would be another six months before he could transfer me back to the city engineers, and I said I wanted to remain with the APF.”

 

“You’re staying.”

 

“I think that’s what I just said,” Rodney replies, disgruntled by John’s slowness.

 

John’s eyes go to the bundle. “Those are the wings?”

 

“I think I’ve fixed them,” Rodney says. “Although if you can test them on the ground, that would probably be for the best, until we know they’re not going to give out midair.”

 

“I’ll know whether they will or not,” John replies. “There are safeties built in.”

 

“Do you want to try?”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” John replies, and strips off his shirt.

 

Rodney stares at his well muscled, hairy chest, and wishes he hadn’t worked so hard to get the wings in working order, that he’d spent time with John.

 

But when Rodney slots the wings into place, when he sees the sheer _relief_ on John’s face as he spreads the wings with their bright metal ribbing and translucent membranes, when he hears John’s deep sigh—he regrets nothing.

 

John steps out onto the balcony and spreads his wings. They beat strongly, lifting him a couple of inches off the ground.

 

“I thought they were metal and white cloth when I first saw them,” Rodney says. “I didn’t know the material was actually translucent.”

 

“When the light hits it right it looks white,” John admits. He spreads them out, a wide grin on his face that turns into laughter, a sound so joyful it makes Rodney’s heart hurt. “God, this feels good!”

 

“Go,” Rodney says. “I’ll watch.”

 

John turns and kisses him hard, his hands gripping the back of Rodney’s head. “Thank you,” he says, and then releases Rodney to climb onto the railing.

 

Rodney’s heart is in his throat, and he wants to ask John to stay on solid ground and knows he can’t. “This is why you have a balcony,” he says instead, making light of his fear.

 

John grins over his shoulder, looking a little feral. “My father’s name was good for something after all,” he replies, and then drops off.

 

Rodney rushes over to the railing, hearing John’s whoops of joy, watching bright metal and the flash of material between the ribs of his wings. John loops lazily and then catches an updraft, soaring past the balcony, swooping around the nearest spire and then dropping out of sight.

 

And Rodney waits for him, his heart so full he has no words for what he’s feeling.

 

When John returns, he alights on the balcony, his wings creating a powerful backdraft, and he reaches for Rodney immediately. His kiss is greedy, wet and dirty and full of passion. “You’re staying,” he says with a bright grin when he finally pulls back. “I didn’t think you would.”

 

“You need me,” Rodney replies. “You’ll get yourself killed otherwise.”

 

“Rodney,” John says, and there’s something helpless and happy in his voice, and then he kisses Rodney again, slow and sweet. “Stay tonight.”

 

Rodney grins, his happiness overflowing. “Try to make me leave.”

 

**Epilogue**

 

These days, when John soars around the spires, the same exultation fills him as had before anytime he’d taken to the skies, but there’s something different now.

 

He knows that Rodney waits for him, and for the first time in John’s life, he’s as happy on solid ground as he is in the air. He likes to tease Rodney that his first sight of Atlantis had included John, and therefore they’re clearly meant to be together.

 

Oddly enough, that’s the one thing Rodney never argues about.


End file.
